"Let me do a little mind-reading before we
arrange preliminaries."
"I haven't much of a mind to read tonight," I answered, wildly.
[Illustration]
"You're right there," said he. "It's like a dime novel, that mind of yours
to-night. But I'll do the best I can with it. Suppose you think of your
favorite poem, and after turning it over in your mind carefully for a few
minutes, select two lines from it, concealing them, of course, from me,
and I will tell you what they are."
Now my favorite poem, I regret to say, is Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwock," a
fact I was ashamed to confess to an utter stranger, so I tried to deceive
him by thinking of some other lines. The effort was hardly successful, for
the only other lines I could call to mind at the moment were from Rudyard
Kipling's rhyme, "The Post that Fitted," and which ran,
"Year by year, in pious patience, vengeful Mrs. Boffin sits
Waiting for the Sleary babies to develop Sleary's fits."
"Humph!" ejaculated my visitor.
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